The Lost Seed Returns
by Candace Marie
Summary: Mal's story. Alternate Version
1. Prologue The Beginning

Prologue

Mal boarded the airplane silently. He had changed his name over half a dozen years ago to James Malcolm, but everyone still called him Mal. It was different enough to keep Father away from him. Father was always pressuring him to work at the bank, because he was the heir to the financial empire. Like he'd ever given a damn. He'd never cared for him or his younger brother Joel. Corrine had been adored by Father. He had never called his Father anything but Father. Always Father had been sorry when he'd punished Corrine, he was never sorry when he punished him or Joel. He had had to protect Joel from Father, for Joel would sometimes cry, and Father had seen  
tears as a weakness.

His wife Adrianne, had divorced him, and it was with a heavy heart that he let her go. She had taken with her his son and his daughter and he had kissed her good-bye for the last time, she had given that for the children. His twins, heirs to the Foxworth empire, though he had never told his children or his beloved Adrianne. He remembered the day he met Adrianne, it was her eyes that had caught his eye first. Such vastly different eyes that he had never seen before. They were an odd shade of violet, and yet sometimes they appeared even lighter than his own cerulean blue eyes. He had given his heart to her, and she was the first person other than his baby sister that he had loved without reservation. She had hair fairer than any he had ever seen. Hair that was such a silvery blonde, that he hastened to call it white. But she was far from old, she looked so old, and so young at the same time. She appeared a simple innocent standing their as she purchased apples. Slowly, he had lowered his gaze to stare at the fairness of her skin, so that he wondered how she stayed out in the sun without burning. He had taken in the rest of his perfect angel, and it had outdone his imagination. He had bought her a bonnet, though he would have never believed the color was possible, it was the exact same shade as her violet eyes.

He had introduced himself as Mal and she had told him who she was, looking down her pert little nose at him, as if he couldn't possibly be good enough for her. He had laughed, he Malcolm Foxworth's son, heir to the Foxworth fortune, not good enough. He had made a vow then never to tell her. She had accepted his gift, only so as not to be burned she had told him. It had been months that he had pursued her and finally, she had relented and married him. She had not been the innocent he had suspected, but so was his passion for her that he no longer cared. He didn't ask, didn't question, why she finally said yes, or who came before him, it hadn't mattered. They had  
toured the world on their honeymoon, and he had told her that he didn't get along well with his family and had halted her questions about them.

She had assumed he was an orphan, he found out later from overhearing her chatter to a friend. It was easier that way, she always suspected he was from simple origins, and he had encouraged that idea. Talking about his motorcycle and the cabin he and Joel had had to get away on the weekends from Father. They had done everything Father had forbidden them to do. They had smoked, drank  
brandy underage, and even partaken in light drugs. And the girls they had had there, he still smothered moans thinking about it.

Within the first three years of marriage the twins had been born.They had had his flaxen blonde hair, and even sported a tan from all the time his children spent outdoors. They had Adrianne's blonde hair. Of course, Cal's name was Malcolm, but damned if he would  
have a son with such an uptight ass name like that. Like his father. Olivia Foxworth and Malcolm Neal Foxworth III they had been named.

He had sent word from the States about that time to find out how his baby sister was, and what had become of his brother? He had found out and wished he hadn't. His brother had been involved in a skiing accident in Switzerland and so he had told his wife he had business in Switzerland and investigated. Everything pointed to his brother's death. He had come back very saddened and unable to unburden himself to his wife. Their marriage had been slipping apart, anyway, and nothing he could do could change the fact that his wife, whom he had loved above all, her affections were waning. And though he ruthlessly destroyed every man she pursued it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. Mari would find him sitting sadly and staring into space, and it was with her that he had shared stories of his childhood that his wife had insisted to his daughter were fragments of his imagination. He had drifted even further apart, for she had never really known him. It had saddened him to realize he was falling out of love with her.

He had found out that his sister had married, and it had given him father a stroke, which he had figured was no less than he deserved. His sister had married their father's half-brother, Christopher Foxworth. How well he remembered him. They had run away, and he had  
heard that Father had cursed their children. Mal hoped they had beautiful, talented, intelligent children that would show them.

He had spent his time either with his music that had become vastly popular in Europe, or with his own growing empire. It had been easy enough once he had had enough money from his music he had invested it. And his investments had paid off handsomely. He was easily the richest man in Europe. And he was known as James Malcolm, and who would ever suspect that James Malcolm, who had no family was heir to the Foxworth family. He had hired a detective, but he let Christopher and Corrine have their peace, telling them to keep tabs on his Father and Mother, he wanted to know when the old man kicked the bucket.

He had learned enough from his father about investments, and he put all his knowledge to good use. He spent most of his time with his children, vastly indifferent to his wives affairs, except for the bruise on his ego and pride that demanded ramifications. Mari became his greatest ally, and he worried if his home was becoming like Foxworth Hall again. Was he spoiling Olivia as Corrine had been spoiled?

He had next heard that Corrine had returned home, childless, husbandless. He was glad for her, but saddened that she didn't know the joys of being a parent. He had to return home before he got too old. He was returning to his childhood home, to the home of childhood memories both good and bad. To Foxwoth Hall, the home that had taken his grandfather's life. The home in which he had always to look over his shoulder waiting for his father's disapproval. A home in which he and Joel had hidden and watched Father with Corrine and wondered why he loved her, and what was wrong with them? They had watched her with strange yearnings in their chests. He shook those thoughts  
away. He was a man now, a grown man, with a failed marriage, and wonderful children of his own. He rented a limozine to drive him to Foxworth Hall.


	2. The Return Home

Chapter Two

The Return Home

Mr. Malcolm?" the limo driver said. He raised his eyebrows and lit a cigar, not commenting but raising his fair eyebrows.

"I wouldn't go to Foxworth Hall, if I were you," the small man continued.

"As it so happens, sir, I am Malcolm Neal Foxworth," the man looked at him disbelieving and spoke.

"Sir, I don't know who you think you're fooling but Old man Foxworth has been sick for years," Mal smiled, 'Good' he thought.

"I'm his son, Malcolm Neal Foxworth Jr., Mal, Mother used to call me," he said with an easy smile. "If you're from around here, you  
would remember my motorcycle accident. Of course, Father didn't care enough to see if there was a body, so I laid under the bridge  
trapped until finally someone heeded my calls for help. It was an older gentleman and I rewarded him with half my trust for saving  
my life," he explained, the man frowned.

"Mr. Foxworth isn't going to like this," he said.

He entered the home and heard a voice ask, "Mr. Chris Foxworth?" he shook his head in the negative and headed off to his room to rest,  
before facing the family. It was the same, yet it was so ...different. "No, I'm Mal," he said and began searching for Mother, Father, and dear little Corrine Foxworth. How hard it must be for her. He turned the corners and headed to the library, shocked to find his father in the room behind the hospital. He was alot sicker than Mal had anticipated, and he hadn't expected to feel so torn, by the sight of his dying father who had denied him everything. All his love and attention had gone to his sister, his father had seen him merely as an extension of himself, and yet, he was his father. Why had he returned? He approached the bed, a half-smirk on his handsome face. "Hello, Father. I'm home. It's me, Mal,  
your son," he said in a queer voice as he wondered if he was senile.

He stood there and realized his father was sleeping. He sat down and waited, memories washing over him. He remembered his mother, Olivia. He remembered the strange relationship his parents had had. "Mother," he had once asked, "why did you marry Father?"

"So I could have two wonderful boys," she had said, brushing stray strands of hair from his face.

"I would have married you, Mother."

"I'm sure you would have, Mal. You are a good boy." Mal smiled at the memory as his Father's eyes blinked and focused and Mal's feet were nailed to the floor. He had missed his mother, and the memories and the love washed over him. He still desired his father's love and approval. "Mal?" the old man's voice reached Mal's ears with disbelief, and hope. Was that hope he heard in his father's voice? Hope, that he was alive, Mal wondered. Had his father truley cared for and loved him, as he had Corrine. Mal's tongue felt frozen to the roof of his mouth as he struggled to find the words to deny to his father that he was not a spirit or a ghost, but the same son he had once had. The same boy who had fought with him over the motorcycle that had nearly taken his life.


	3. Mal and his father

Chapter Three

Mal and his Father

Mal wished he could be like the child he once was before so much of lifes bitterness and dissapointments came to fester upon his souls like sharks to a pound of flesh. Mal gathered up his courage and looked around for Mother or Corrine, finding their lack of presence he gathered up his courage. "Yes, Father, it's me."

Malcolm Neal Foxworth the powerful man who had once locked Mal in closets and beat him with a whip, merely blinked at his presense before whispering. "Mal, how can this be? We ...found...your...body," he whispered fraily as tears filled his eyes. Mal was sure it was more a condition of the stroke than any emotion. Malcolm had never shown any emotion as long as Mal had known him. As far as Mal was concerned his father was emotionally handicapped.

"Father, you couldn't have found my body."

"John...Amos...found. Your mother...cried."

"I'm sorry, Father." Mal said unfeeling.

"You...look..so..much...like me."

"I'm not anything like you, Father."

Malcolm smiled that old condensending smile, as if Mal still had alot to learn.

"All...my children...have returned...home. Only...Joel is dead. I'm so glad you are alive."

"Corrine's home?"

"Yes." Malcolm started coughing and Mal went to get him a glass of water. He didn't want to kill the old man. So why are you here, a voice inside his head asked. To find out you are different than him. To give your children a chance to know their grandparents? He knew that wasn't the answer. He wanted the old man to know what his music had gotten him. To know that Father was wrong and he was right. He no longer believed in love as he once had. Why should he after the strange relationship his parents had had. Why had they even married to produce such handsome and beautiful yet strange offspring? Love was for those who believed in it. And he didn't. The only taste of love he had ever seen had been between his grandfather and Alicia and that had been gone too short. He could barely remember his grandfather who had worn a smile while his father could only command orders like a general, and who often said his mother had spoiled 'his' sons. His grandfather had favored him and Joel with hugs and was always patted them on the head. Whenever Father made a comment, Grandfather had said that was what the grand part was for. He felt as if his Father had been envious of the attention Grandfather had showered on him and then Christopher when he was born.

"Please...my son, stay." Malcolm said, and Mal looked around for his mother as he handed the glass of water to his father.

"Ok. Let me go to my room and freshen up," he said almost running from his father. It was scarey to see a man who looked so much like him struggle to speak, unable to move very much, confined to a wheelchair, when he had once seemed stronger that Zeus. But even gods fall, whispered a voice.


	4. Sibblings Reunited

Siblings Reunited

Mal knocked on his mother's door but there was no answer so he carefully swung the door open but found the room empty. He wondered where she could be and remembered that Corrine was home. He wondered if Corrine and Mother were getting into it and turned around to head to the East Wing where Corrine's, Joel's and his rooms had all been located. He opened the door and found it void of any new possessions. There were Corrine's old prom and graduation gowns, and pictures. He picked up the pictures and studied them carefully. There was one of Corrine and a man who had to be Christopher Foxworth, for he was so easily recognizable as a Foxworth. They both wore smiles and glowing expressions. Mal was immediately jealous of Christopher Foxworth. He wore an easy smile and looked happy in a way Mal could only imagine. It had to have come from having a stepfather that cared for him rather than a father like Malcolm. There was a family portrait. How young he had been then, he wondered how much he had changed. He had been so full of life, and he had never seen it coming. The reason he had to leave.

He remembered that Corrine had always loved the Swan Room and wondered if Father had finally given it to her. The Swan Room had been the suite of the first and second Mr. Garland Foxworth, his grandfather. He stopped short of knocking on the door when he heard voices.

"Really, Bart, I don't care what Mother says. It's Daddy I'm worried about."

"Corrine, really. When are you going to grow up? You are a grown woman, who has been married and widowed. You don't need their permission or money. I can't give you Foxworth Hall but I can provide for you amply. Didn't you learn anything from being married?"

"Bart, there's no need to attack me. Chris and I were happy. The last thing I wanted to do was come crawling back to Mother and Daddy."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I had no choice. There was no other way out, Bart. I was alone, and I had nothing. Chris and I lived beyond our means, my fault, not his. Bart, you know it's painful for me to talk about. I loved him. I gave up all this for him."

"Someday, I'll know all your secrets."

"I hope not," Corrine replied.

Mal took the opportunity to knock and open the door. Corrine's face lit up before she glanced at Bart and then it filled with guilt. "Chris?" she whispered. "How? They said you were dead."

"Cori, I'm not Chris," he said, calling her by the nickname he had given her a long time ago. He was the only one who ever called her Cori. He watched as the blood drained from her face.

"Mal, don't ever call me that again," she said in a choked voice.

"I've always called you Cori," he said confused. Even at sixteen she had never objected to that nickname why she should she just because she was now in her thirties.

"Bart, can you please excuse us. I'm sorry where are my manners. Bart, this is my brother, Malcolm Neal Foxworth, Jr., Mal, this is Bartholomew Scott Winslow, Daddy's attorney."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Malcolm," Bart replied.

"Please call me Mal. Malcolm is my father. Stick around for a game of tennis later."

"Sure, Mal," Bart said, before leaving.

As soon as he left Corrine turned to him, "You are supposed to be dead. What are you doing here?"

"This is my family home."

"Why now? Why after all these years? Have you seen Daddy already? If you need money I'll get it to you, just stay away."

"I've already seen, Father, Cori."

"Damn. Double Damn."

"Honestly, Cori. I heard about Father. Besides, I'm going through a divorce. I've give Adrianne the house and I needed a place to stay. I wanted to be close to my family."

"That's great. Just perfect."

"I thought you would be happy to see me, Cori. What's wrong?"

"I told you not to call me that," Corrine snapped. Mal couldn't explain how Corrine could be so beautiful and yet so ugly at the same time. Her features were lovely, but her face was hard, her eyes were narrowed and sharp. The beauty seemed misplaced on such a face that seemed to have forgotten how to smile. Where had all the youthful joy gone?

"Cori, do you know where Mother is?"

"She around."

"Father's having a dinner he wants you to attend."

"In your honor I'm sure," she said bitterly.

"Look, Cori. I'll talk to Father for you."

Suddenly Corrine's face blossomed into beauty like a witch into a queen. She smiled. "I'm sorry, Mal. I'm glad you are here, really I am. It nearly killed me when I saw that motorcycle explode."

Corrine watched him leave, and smirked. Why couldn't he have stayed dead? He was another heir, one that could take from her what she deserved. Daddy owed her that money. She was a Foxworth and it was her due, her right. Damn Cathy for turning the others against her. She would show her, soon they would be free. It wouldn't be long now. Daddy would most certainly leave a huge portion to Mal. Corrine had always known that despite his harshness with Mal, he cared for him, in some ways more than he cared for her. He trusted Mal, and he had never really trusted her.

Mal walked toward the gardens, pondering Corrine. When had she got so mean? She was almost exactly like Father. Almost an exact duplicate of Malcolm Foxworth, and it was scary. What had happened to his baby sister? This grand house did things to people, it changed them. Would it change him too? He beant down and pressed his face to the petals of a mum, remembering how he had joked with his Mother.

"You'll be Queen of the Mums, Mum," he had said with a laugh, he laughed out loud before the hairs on his neck stood up letting him know someone was there.

"What are you doing out here?" he heard a sharp voice behind him, "How did you get out here?"


End file.
